Running for Cover
by arrowsandnat
Summary: "Soulmate," Clint repeats. He's dazed, like that time in Kosovo when he'd taken a poison dart to the neck, and he can only stare. For years he'd carried those words, branded into his flesh in looped red letters wrapped around his forearm, and for years he'd tried to picture his soulmate, but he'd never imagined his other half as the Black fucking Widow. Full description inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Warnings: None**

 **Summary: This will be a multichapter fic set in an alternate universe in which the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your body, focused on Nat's transition from Black Widow agent to one half of Strike Team Delta. Enjoy and R &R!**

* * *

"Turn around and put your hands behind your head or I swear to god I'll put an arrow between your shoulder blades," he says, keeping his aim trained firmly on the girl's back. She has her arms raised in the universal gesture of surrender, but Clint is positive she could kill him half a dozen ways even cornered and unarmed (and she is unarmed; one of the downsides of the form-fitting mint green dress she's wearing.) He should just shoot now; he's supposed to, anyway, but he doesn't feel that great about killing someone execution style, even if that someone is famed assassin Natalia Romanova, aka Black Widow. Clint's seen her handiwork first hand, and that alone is enough to condemn her without even taking into account the thousand of horror stories he's heard about this woman. Still, Clint doesn't believe in being judge, jury, and executioner for someone he hasn't at least given the benefit of the doubt. He'll give her a chance to acquiesce, and if she doesn't, then her death is on nobody's head but her own. That's what he tells himself, anyway, as he holds her fate in his hands and tries hard to forget what he'd read about her childhood.

The Russian tenses, and Clint shifts slightly. He's ready to dodge whatever she throws, or so he thinks, because the next thing out of her mouth is "I'd bet good money you're not going to kill me, arrow boy," and Clint becomes incapable of any thought other than _it's her_.

At the sound of her voice something inside him _shifts_ , and he wonders who he ever was before he heard it.

The moment is fleeting, but he's so consumed that he doesn't notice her turning around to look at him in the face for the first time. By the time he comes back to himself, her arms have lowered and and crossed over her chest and she's studying him with none of the predatory awareness he's observed every other time he's looked at her.

His CO is screaming in his comms, ordering him to _shoot, what the hell are you thinking, she'll kill you, you need to_ \- so he reaches up and turns it off without a thought. "You," he breathes.

She smirks, then, just a slight upturn at the corner of her lips. "You," she counters. "This complicates things, doesn't it?"

"You – you're –"

She takes a small step towards him, and when he makes no move to shoot she closes the gap between them. "Hello, soulmate," she says with a tentative smile.

"Soulmate," Clint repeats. He's dazed, like that time in Kosovo when he'd taken a poison dart to the neck, and he can only stare at the beauty in front of him. For years he'd carried those words, branded into his flesh in looped red letters that wrapped around his forearm, and for years he'd tried to picture his soulmate, but he hadn't quite imagined the Black fucking Widow as his other half. What did that say about him, that she was–

Clint catches the movement of her hand out of the corner of his eye, and he throws out his arm just in time to block her dagger's plunge towards his stomach. She grabs for his neck, and the fight is back on. Like it never stopped. Like Clint's whole world hasn't just tilted off its axis. "I'm no one's soulmate," she snarls. Clint can't seem to get a piece of her – but she hasn't gotten a piece of him, either. She's toying with him, whether she realizes it or not: she's letting him live. She wants to see who her perfect match is supposed to be before she kills him, maybe, he doesn't know. He only knows that he's seen tapes of her fight, and this is not Natalia Romanova putting in maximum effort.

Clint's momentary lapse at her dramatic reveal had been beyond amateur, but he thinks he can be forgiven just this once. Although, he thinks as he manages to catch Romanova in the face with his elbow, his handlers will most likely not see it that way. Romanova staggers backwards and one hand goes to her now bleeding nose as she hisses in pain. Her brief withdrawal is enough; in the short interval between the initial blow and the Widow recovering, Clint has nocked an arrow and aimed it at her chest.

She freezes. "You wouldn't," she says. "I'm your–"

Clint lets go.

The arrow thunks into her chest and attaches itself to the fabric of her dress, sinking eight million volts into the assassin. She goes down _hard_. Clint almost feels bad for her when her head connects with the floor. Almost. He shoots her again anyway, just to be absolutely sure.

After the second arrow has done its work, he approaches her prone form cautiously, checking her pulse with gloved fingers. With the hand that isn't pressed to the Black Widow's neck, he turns his earpiece back on. "Sir?" he says.

" _Barton, what the hell is going on?_ "

"I lost you for a moment there – she knocked my earpiece out." God, he used to be a better liar. "I have her, sir."

" _You – what?_ "

"I have her. She's incapacitated."

" _The assignment wasn't to capture her, Barton,_ " his CO barks.

"I understand that, Sir." Clint checks her arm at the base of forearm, where his words are on him. Instead of words, Romanova has a thin scar coiled around her skin, the type of neat line that speaks surgical precision, and by the size, a removal done at a very young age. _The Red Room_ , he thinks with dawning realization, _of course_. Agents with attachments couldn't be trusted. Of course they'd have her words removed as a child, before she had the chance to commit them to memory. Someone must have told her, and told her the importance of keeping her knowledge quiet.

He's got to keep it quiet, too. If anyone at SHIELD found out about this…

He's not going to let them kill her. Not just because she's his soulmate, either, he tells himself firmly. Clint hadn't felt all too good about this mission from the start. He'd read her file. If even half of what had been it in about the Red Room was true, this girl had never had any choice in what she was. And once she got one, how was she supposed to make the right decision when she'd been brainwashed her whole life? It isn't fair. He's going to give her the opportunity to change that she deserves. He thinks she'll take it. He thinks.

Even if she doesn't, he can't let anyone at SHIELD know of this recent development. None of his opinions or objections will hold an ounce of weight if the words on his arm come to light; Clint's almost positive he's going to have to take responsibility for her and her training to keep her off of death row, and there is not a chance in hell he'd be able to do it if Fury knew she was his soulmate. He'll think Clint's infatuated with her, which he isn't, or that he can't be trusted, which he can. He's loyal to SHIELD before he's loyal to this woman he doesn't even know. He's loyal to SHIELD period. Well, he's loyal to Fury, anyway, and Peggy, and Phil, and then the agency, but he figures that counts.

His CO makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, and Clint pulls himself together. Nobody saw what happened except Romanova, and she'll lie to protect her own ass in a heartbeat. He's safe.

" _Where are you?_ "

Clint relays the coordinates quickly, then puts a finger over his earpiece. "Hear that, Natalia?" He says to the girl as he slaps the cuffs onto her wrists. He's grinning in spite of himself: the two of them have a hell of a lot of work to do, and none of it easy, – he's going to have to deal with the fact that apparently his other half is a cold blooded killer, for one – but something deep down inside Clint is almost giddy. "We're going home."


	2. Chapter 2

Clint sees Romanova next three days after getting pulled into the plane sent by extraction.

He's been doing little more than sitting around getting yelled at up to this point – even if Fury ultimately comes down on his side on keeping Romanova, Clint can't quite duck out of the official suspension that comes with directly disobeying orders. Not to mention bringing one of the most dangerous assassins, working for a deadly organization that will break down SHIELD's doors to find her, into their midst. Needless to say, nobody seems particularly happy with him.

He's perched on a stool in the corner of Romanova's cell, now, waiting for heavy sedatives they only this morning stopped giving her to wear off. Clint's fairly sure she won't let the cat out of the bag when she sees him: she's smart – _near genius level intelligence_ , the file had said, but Clint doesn't know if he quite believes that yet – but in any case she's certainly clever enough to figure out that keeping hush hush is in her best interests, at least until she knows how much Clint has revealed.

Which is nothing. There are rules here – all cadets are required to disclose their soulwords when they first enter the academy, and full agents at SHIELD must report their soulmates the moment they find them. Clint could get fired or worse for failing to report the discovery of his soulmate to his CO (a man named Reilly, who Clint actually likes so far despite the chewing out of the century he had delivered on the ride back to SHIELD headquarters.)

Clint runs his index finger along his words. Barney had given him hell for it – which was ironic, considering his were _pass the fucking needle_ – and Clint himself had spent hours wondering why exactly he was killing someone, and why in the world that someone was calling him _arrow boy_. It had seemed so ridiculous to him, so implausible, that he'd spent half his life convinced he was going to grow up an actor. He'd already been so good at pretending everything at home was okay, it seemed a likely possibility.

Romanova stirs, and the movement yanks Clint from his thoughts. His past is past, and he's got more important things to dwell on. Like the fact that his murderess of a soulmate is coming around.

Her transition from _unconscious_ to _lucid and aware_ lasts less than a minute. Clint watches the slight changes in her form that signal first that she's waking, then that she's awake and listening, taking inventory of herself and her surroundings, garnering information. The movements are so miniscule that if Clint hadn't been watching her head on he would not have seen them; had he only glanced over he would have assumed she was still deeply unconscious. He gives her about fifteen seconds before he says, "You're in a cell, Romanova."

She sits straight up and meets his gaze with eyes that are cold and clear. "Arrow boy," she says. Despite the hint of grogginess that tinges the edge of her voice, her tone is the silky purr Clint heard her use on a target not four days ago. "I underestimated you."

"Yes, you did," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know why. SHIELD's almost caught you before, haven't they?" _We have no connection to each other. There's no reason in the world you should have let your guard down. We are nothing but captor and captive._

"Well, typically here's the part where I say SHIELD's full of incompetent buffoons," she says, "but insulting one's host is rude. And I see you've graciously offered me these living quarters."

Message received. Not only that, but she's testing him, seeing how he'll react to the word "living" – she knows his job back in Moscow was to kill her, and she's trying to figure out whether he's still on the clock. Clever. But Clint knew she was clever. What he didn't know was exactly how fucking green Romanova's eyes are, but he's learning now as she studies him from the other side of the glass pane. "You can drop the flirting, Romanova, I'm wise to that particular trick," he tells her.

She licks her lips. "You'd be surprised how little being aware of my intentions seems to matter when I've got someone…interested."

Clint leans forward slightly on his stool, adjusting for the response of the uneven legs to his shifting weight without thinking. "It won't work," he says calmly. Both his face and hers are blank, now, Romanova dropping the slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips and Clint adopting an air of authority. He can't claim that since his world was pulled out from under him he's completely regained his balance around this woman, but he's better than he was three days ago, and he has no problem ignoring the bit of heat in his stomach at her words, no problem remembering that the two of them are two master spies at work. This is a dance, a game, and Clint…Clint is ready to play.

"So," she says, her tone completely devoid of any purr now. She leans back and cocks her head to the side. "I take it you won't be telling me where I am, then?"

"You're in New York," he says. "Forty miles beneath the city." Clint reads her surprise – her impossibly green eyes flash for the briefest instant before her expression is as unreadable as ever. He can't say he blames her. He's been a captive himself, once or twice, and a captor offering up information that easily in their business is very, very rare.

Romanova holds herself completely still on her cot. Dark purple smudges paint the skin beneath her eyes, a stark contrast to the near-white pallor of her face, and with her bright red hair tangled in snarls around her shoulders, she looks like she belongs on a movie set wearing a dark cape and a pair of glue-on fangs. But she's still beautiful. She looks like the Grim Reaper come to Earth and still she's beautiful. Useful quality for a spy.

"New York, huh?" she says. "Do you think that's a good move? Bringing the infamous Black Widow to the heart of your entire organization? Think of the damage I could do with intel alone, not to mention if I decide to go on the offensive and take out your leaders." The _which I could_ remains unspoken.

He shrugs. "I think it's a good move."

"Do tell." She folds her arms over her chest, and the traces of the past few days that linger in her appearance are nowhere to be found in her demeanor.

But Clint's not fazed. "You're not gonna do any of that, Romanova."

"Arrow boy," Romanova says, amusement echoing beneath the pitying quality of her tone. She even lets a hint of grin play across her pale lips as she uncrosses her arms and uses her palm to brace herself while she leans forward. There's maybe ten feet between her cot and his stool, but the distance between the two seems far smaller. "Do you really think that the second I have my chance I won't be out of here?"

Clint mirrors her pose right down to the smile. His elbows dig into his thighs, which in turn dig into the wooden rim of the stool. "Yes."

"And why is that?"

The tension thickens in the empty space between her question and his answer, which he waits to give until her eyes meet his. "Because," he says, "the security camera's out and I'm unarmed. You could have been out of here already. But you and I both know that the second you leave your entire organization will start to hunt you down." Clint registers the way her eyes widen the smallest fraction, the tiny rise of her eyebrows. He's right. It was a gamble, coming into her cell like this, but Fury had agreed with his reasoning and half of SHIELD had been standing outside the hallway doors waiting for Romanova to show her face. It had been his bargain with the director. "Look, she's dangerous, and if she doesn't want to be here, there's a good chance she'll kill people trying to get out," Clint had told the man. "This is the fastest way to find out. If she runs, kill her. But she won't run."

Clint loves being right.

Romanova's face is expressionless, now, but Clint's seen enough. "My organization trusts me," she says, but even her voice doesn't sound quite as self-assured to his trained ears as it did before. "I clearly didn't go willingly –"

Clint chuckles. "Do you think that means anything to them, Natalia? If you were betraying them, do you think you'd want it to look like you waltzed away of your own free will?" She stiffens, but Clint plows on. "Now, you tell me, but if you're the head of a major Russian organization, and you're under the impression that SHIELD, you and your country's enemy, is, and I quote, "full of incompetent buffoons," how is it going to look when your best agent is suddenly captured on a routine mission? I'll tell you what I think."

Clint allows his smile to bloom into something that is very close to a smirk before pressing on. He doesn't take pleasure in the way Romanova's eyes are beginning to take on a hint of nerves, not really, but Clint knows how to manipulate people. Not as well as she does, maybe, and maybe she knows he's manipulating her, but in the end it doesn't really matter, because he's made his point and she's too smart not to see the truth in it. "I think there's no way in hell you'll go back to your organization," he tells her, "and I think there's no one you could go to that wouldn't immediately turn you over to them, or at the very least suspect or kill you because of your ties there, and I think you've already thought all of this through while we've been chatting. SHIELD's your only option, and I think you know it."

Boom.

Clint thinks it's a rather impressive speech, but Romanova doesn't miss a beat. "Or maybe you're in over your head," she says. "Maybe you're not aware of what I'm capable of, arrow boy."

"Oh, I'm aware. But hunted, on the run? Unable to utilize everything you're capable of? I don't think that's what you want." He drops his voice into something perilously close to soft. "You've been living this life for a long time, Romanova. Wouldn't it be nice to be on the right side of things for once? You wouldn't have to run anymore. You'd be able to right some of your wrongs."

Romanova smiles, then, and Clint realizes he's missed a step. "I've got a whole lot of wrongs, arrow boy, and working for SHIELD won't change that. But if you're recruiting, sure, I'll take the job. Go ahead, put me out in the field."

A beat of silence.

Clint's marshaling his response when Romanova scoffs. "That's what I thought. There's no way anyone at SHIELD will ever trust me after everything I've done, with good reason. Why did you even bring me in in the first place?"

"You're too valuable of an asset to waste." A lie, but not an implausible one. And she already knows the real reason, so there isn't really a point in justifying further than that.

"My skill set, the thing that makes me so _valuable_ , doesn't involve me sitting behind a desk. I'm a hands on kind of girl, arrow boy, and SHIELD's not going to let me get handsy, so why bother? I could send a whole batch of your agents to their deaths with some bad intel, assuming you trust my intel at all."

"That's fair," he says. "It would gain you nothing, but that's a fair assessment. Don't worry, I won't be asking for your intel anytime soon. For now it's just going to be you and me, getting to know each other."

Romanova narrows her eyes but remains silent.

"I know you're not going to work for SHIELD just like that," he says. Clint keeps his tone firm and solid, stepping away from the dance to speak to her as a person. "I don't expect you to. You've got no reason to trust us, and we've got no reason to trust you, but the bottom line is that we need each other." He pauses, takes a moment to survey her. "I will swear to you, right here and now, not to lie to you if you'll do the same."

"You're in the wrong business, arrow boy," she snorts.

"I'm serious, Natalia. I can't make promises for SHIELD, but me, myself, I won't lie to you. I'm not saying I'll answer all your questions or anything, but this is never going to work without honesty."

Clint lets her study him, lets her find the complete sincerity he's offering, lets her decide for herself for once in her life. "There is no _this_ ," she says. "I never agreed to work for you. You know, capturing a girl isn't really a way to start out a relationship, or didn't they teach that in your academy?"

"I'm offering you a chance at a better life."

"Define better, because so far sitting in a cell for the rest of my days isn't sounding incredibly appealing, and I'm not very keen on–"

"You'd get a choice." That shuts her up, causes her to look at him like…he's not sure. He can't read her face, but he makes sure his is open, something it hasn't been for the entirety of their conversation. Clint takes a breath, continues. "You've never had a choice in your life and I'm giving you one now because I don't think you're what your file makes you out to be. You can be one of the good guys. Natalia…" he swallows. "I know what it's like to be made into a weapon. I know what it's like to be treated like one until you forget everything you were and everything you stood for, and I know what it's like to be sitting where you are now. But you don't have to be a weapon anymore. You can be your own person again."

"I got to say, arrow boy, it's tempting, but–"

"My name is Clint," he tells her. "And I don't want you to answer now. Think it over. Don't brush this off out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to a man who never saw you as more than a dog at the end of a very long leash." He exhales through his nose and stands. The moment is over. He walks to the other side of the cell and stops in the doorframe. "This is your chance to get out," he says. She's watching him with an icy expression, as if his offer has driven all the faux-warmth and playfulness out of her. "Think it over," he repeats, and walks out without looking back.


End file.
